Contents

Appearance

Marwyn has a thick neck and a strong jaw. He is short and squat with enormous hands, a thick chest and a hard ale-belly. He has white hair coming out of his nose and ears. His nose has been broken more than once and his teeth are stained red.[2] His ring, rod and mask are made of Valyrian steel.[1]

About

People say that Marwyn keeps the company of whores and hedge wizards, talks with hairy Ibbenese and pitch-black Summer Islanders in their own tongues, and sacrifices to queer gods at the little sailor's temples down by Oldtown’s wharves. Men speak of seeing him down by the undercity, in rat pits and black brothels, consorting with mummers, singers, sellswords and even beggars. Some even have whispered that he has killed a man with his fists once. He believes in many curious things.[3]

Marwyn spent eight years in the east mapping distant lands, searching for lost books, and studying with warlocks and shadowbinders. He was nicknamed 'Marwyn the Mage' by Archmaester Vaellyn after his return.[3] The name was soon all over Oldtown, much to Vaellyn’s vast annoyance. He often calls the rest of the maesters the 'grey sheep'.[5][2] He is the author of a book, The Book of Lost Books.[6]

The accounts of his travels confirmed reports that there are no living animals in Asshai.[7]

At Marwyn's request, Alleras brings Samwell Tarly to meet with Marwyn after talking to him at the Seneschal's Court. Marwyn listens to Samwell's story and then declares that he is off to meet Daenerys Targaryen. He orders Samwell to keep quiet about Daenerys and the dragons, finish his studies, and then get back to the Wall as fast as possible. Marwyn then leaves to catch the Cinnamon Wind in order to get as quickly as possible to Daenerys in Meereen.[2]

Quotes by Marwyn

Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.[2]

Who do you think killed all the dragons the last time around? Gallant dragonslayers armed with swords? The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles, much less for dragons. Ask yourself why Aemon Targaryen was allowed to waste his life upon the Wall, when by rights he should have been raised to archmaester. His blood was why. He could not be trusted. No more than I can.[2]